Final Chapter: At Noon Every Sunday
Thirteen years pass and the man has a full beard of the same yellow that hangs on his scalp. The woman has been buried for five of these years in front of the house and the marker is weather beaten and the letters have faded slightly and he still changes the flowers at noon every Sunday. He misses her dearly and still cries for her occasionally when he knows his son is asleep and will not hear. He comforts himself that she was felled not by bullet or knife or poison, but by a disease he can't pronounce correctly; nature's way. He'd protected her and loved her and she had told him on April the 21st, 1856 that if she was to die, she was to die a happy woman.
The man and his boy can be seen riding into Luca most days where they buy breakfast and visit the local contractor for work and for coffee. Usually the man brings his son along but occasionally he leaves him behind with the contractor and the two men always shake hands and before parting, and every now and then, the contractor will lean forward and clear some of the dirt from the man's hat with a simple swish of his hand.
At night sometimes the man would leave his rifle with the boy and ride out to Besaid, where he would visit a tiny homestead that hosted a retired whore and her husband of three years. Tonight was one such night and the man's mind was still on the child. The chestnut hair that had belonged to his mother was getting long and it hung over his eyes and before he left the man had gently cropped it onto his forehead with his left hand. His dismounts the white steed that is one of his oldest friends as the door opens and a tall thin man emerges with a bright smile.
"Evenin' Tidus."
"Evenin', Cloud. Rikku around?"
"Eh, 'fraid she's sleeping. She says the party's gonna be a long'n and she better rest up for it."
Tidus smiles. "Well, I just wanted to be the first to wish her well." he reaches into the bag strapped to the saddle and retrieves a tin.
"Whatcha got in there?"
"Cookies, actually. Bein' she taught me to actually cook worth a damn, I figured it'd be my way of thankin' her. And sayin' happy birthday, o'course."
Cloud smiles and nods but his smile is a sad one.
"You know it's us that should be thankin' you, still."
Tidus looks up at the star-shot sky and shakes his head.
"You need to stop thinkin' of it that way, friend."
Miles away on the outskirts of Luca, a boy who can't sleep pulls a dresser drawer open and finds a yellowing piece of paper that bestows the face of an old man. Bold lettering reads:
WANTED: REVEREND SEYMOUR GUADO. 10, 000 DOLLAR REWARD.
But the spattered, dented bullet that ended the life of such a demon will remain only in the man's imagination, the last chapter of a past life put away so he could raise his boy.
Well? I hope you've all enjoyed this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I thank anyone who has followed, favourited, or offered commentary/criticsism. If you enjoyed this, keep an eye out; I may write a sequal, and if not another chapter-length tale about drugs, I haven't decided yet.
Thank you all again,
T.